The Shift (Father Murphy) by Jaci Turner

He still remembers, now and then, But slips between the now and when. His eyes still meet me, sharp and wide, Then drift away, then turn, then hide.

The jokes come less, the light is thin, A quiet hush has moved within. He tires early, walks more slow, His voice now softened, hushed, and low.

We talk each week, I hold the thread, Though thoughts repeat or go unsaid. The stories pause, then reappear, Like echoes faint, then crystal-clear.

It’s not the storm they warned would fall, Not yet, but still, I feel the crawl. A quiet grieving laced with grace, For who he is, and who I chase.

And I know others walk this track, With love ahead and memory back. This gentle ache, this slow unspooling, This life that time begins retooling.

But love, it learns, it finds a way To hold the light as shadows play. A smile, a glance, a touch recalled, Proof that not all is lost or stalled.

So while the path ahead is steep, There’s wonder in the care we keep. A thousand moments still remain, In softened joy and fleeting name.

And though the days may blur or bend, I’ll walk beside him to the end. For even now, beneath the strain, The love we share still knows my name.